


Clap Along If You Know What Happiness Is To You (or Bucky Wants His Coffee)

by scalphunter



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Feels, Domestic, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied Relationships, Multi, Romance, Sorry Not Sorry, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 18:53:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1358203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scalphunter/pseuds/scalphunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky watches with wide eyed morbid fascination as Steve and Natasha make breakfast singing Happy by Pharrell Williams which is blasting out of the kitchen speakers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clap Along If You Know What Happiness Is To You (or Bucky Wants His Coffee)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> For @Chocolate_Viola and others. Plus myself obviously. 
> 
> Addicted to the song and the image it creates. I am falling in love with Steve/Natasha/Bucky.

 

 

He wakes up to it. No. Hang on. That sounds too pleasant.

 

He’s reluctantly awoken to the land of the living and the insane (both of which could very well live in this tower). He got back yesterday from a mission in Prague with Barton and all he wanted to do was sleep the weekend off.

 

Bucky can hear a rhythmic beat filter towards his bedroom and he’s faintly aware that light is streaming in through his curtains but it’s his day off and he doesn’t give a fuck. He frowns.

 

‘Go back to sleep! Why the fuck did I sign that lease?’ Bucky yells as valiantly as is possible when his limbs don’t collaborate and he says most of that through the material of his duvet. He scrambles, faceplants his pillow and pushes the sides up to his ears in an attempt to block out the peppy and much too lively music that’s coming from outside of his room. He shuts his eyes and relaxes his body when all of a sudden -

… he’s on the floor, his bedcovers entwined around him and he’s blinking blearily up at… **Steve.**

‘You just pulled me out of bed. Literally. Get out’ he grumbles, uselessly because Steve has always been a morning person; unfortunately.

‘Because I’m happy!’ Steve sings, revelling in Bucky’s death glare from the floor. ‘Clap along if you know what happiness is to you’.

‘Just leave me alone’ Bucky complains, and grabs at the pillow half its journey off the bed in a resigned effort of returning to dreamland. ‘I need to change the code on my door’ he says through gritted teeth.

‘Up and at ‘em Buck’, is the morale inspire words he receives. He groans unintelligibly.

‘Not happening. My bed loves me, you don’t’ he snaps (well, grouses is a touch more apt but, shut up whose side are you on?!) and he doesn’t mean that, he’s sleepy. Steve fidgets – Bucky can tell he’s awkwardly standing there. He sighs.

‘Fuck me’ he breathes, eyes closed to the world. ‘Pal. You want me up and available? Make me pancakes’

‘Okay. Get your ass up and to the kitchen’ Steve says agreeably and Bucky grunts. There’s a pause, ‘If you don’t move I’m sending in Natasha’

He heaves one, two, three sighs and then drags himself up, swaying decidedly into his bedside table and straightens up, glaring. Steve does that grin-smirk thing he does and Bucky would punch him if he had any usable energy. He slogs his feet across the carpeted flooring, out the door, towards the kitchen.

Steve’s following him and still fucking singing.

A cup of coffee later and Bucky is perkier, less grumbling is falling out of his mouth and he’s more sociable than he was a few minutes ago. If anything, the whole entire thing begins to look amusing as all get out.

Also, he notices that the song was not on the radio but on the tablet, which means it goes into repeat. Again.

‘Oh no, I’m enjoying the view. This is too funny’ Bucky snorts, backing up to the counter with his coffee mug firmly warming his hands.

He watches with wide eyed morbid fascination as Steve and Natasha make breakfast (somehow in sync with each other although he’s not quite sure how that happened) singing [_Happy_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q-GLuydiMe4)by _Pharrell Williams_ which is blasting out of the kitchen speakers.

It’s an _Avengers_ thing. Probably.

Like those songs they made workers sing back in the depression.

Boosting team morale and efficiency? Yeah, not really.

‘I’m not sure if this is hilarious, frightening or both’ Bucky suggests just as Steve slides past Natasha, spinning with a spatula. He couldn’t do that with confidence before – well.

Natasha moves in time with the music and whether it’s _Natasha_ or it’s _there is the world’s best assassin in the kitchen dancing like a teenager_ that does it but Bucky concedes more coffee is in order if he has any hope of surviving the morning alone.

‘James, up’ Natasha says and he blinks at her.

‘No thanks, you kids enjoy yourselves though’ he teases, flashing a hard grin. Steve elbows him lightly and tries (fails) to pull Bucky off the island counter and onto the open kitchen floor. ‘Give us a twirl, Stevie’ he says as revenge. Steve scowls at him and it’s all kinds of adorable considering the bed hair and the sleepy creases of his t-shirt.

Really, one super soldier and two trained assassins shouldn’t make such a domestic scene but somehow they do. Everything’s good and nothing hurts. He isn’t going to look too hard at it. A part of his brain fears that if he does, he’ll blink and it’ll all fade into nothingness, just another crushed fantasy. He never thought he’d love two people or, in fact, they would love him in return for what he is and became and what he _hates._ He has two people who found him, who saved him. He turns his head as Natasha cups his jaw in an outstretched palm, her hand soft and inviting. They’re an intimate and affectionate trio – no one would guess so. It’s private. Not for other people. That’s one thing that Steve falls for (and Bucky does too but it’s ten times funnier with Steve because he’s such a gentleman: always has been and always will be.), when Natasha can’t reach something on a higher shelf she gets one of them to get it for her. She’s THE _Black Widow_ , she could jump up and climb up and retrieve whatever the object was herself, but she likes asking them to do it. He doesn’t know if Natasha knows, that they know, that she does this and it’s one of their _things_ or if Natasha doesn’t know that they know but in entertains her greatly nonetheless.

It’s too early in the fuckin’ morning to be analysing the wiles of ex-Russian redheaded spies. She slides her hand up to rake through his hair, wordlessly, and then turns away from him.

 

Bucky blinks, shakes his head and jabs at the coffee machine with his free hand. It comes to life for the third time and he pulls up short, realising he’s been humming along to this goddamn song!

Rolling his eyes at the ceiling, he almost completely misses Steve’s question.

 

‘Huh?’

‘I said do you want maple syrup in them or on them?’ and Bucky’s brain misfires a couple of times before he smells the homely aroma of pancake mix.

‘In them, thanks’ he says and Steve rolls his eyes, acting all ‘mom’, and mutters lowly _‘stupid friends don’t listen but why do I ask? He hasn’t changed his tastes since-‘_ Steve cuts himself off as he shoves the pan across to the gentler hob.

Natasha is perched on the stool, silently watching the entire thing unfold.

Bucky slumps off the counter and drops to the cold flooring, his toes jerk against cool tiles. He pokes Steve in the side, just below his ribs, and Steve squirms away violently, a high pitch chuckle escaping his lips unintentionally. Bucky grins in triumph. Some things definitely stay the same.

‘Still ticklish?’

‘If you want breakfast: step away’ he threatens, holding the maple syrup out like a brandishing sword.

‘Yes Cap’ Bucky salutes and backs away, his coffee ready and steaming under the maker. He groans around a hearty gulp and Natasha snorts, amusement perfectly clear.

‘If that were a woman…’

‘Shut up, Tash’

‘What are you going to do about it?’

‘Children. Play nice’ Steve says, not even bothering to turn around. Bucky shrugs at Natasha who answers by aggressively eating a spoonful of cereal.

 _Can you aggressively eat cereal?_ Bucky wonders, he’s not sure, however that’s what it looks like from his perspective. Peeking over Steve’s shoulder into his personal space, smiling a little at the perfectly golden pancakes. They’re fluffy, sort of shiny on top and sizzling and on cue Bucky’s stomach complains. Steve makes a noise in his throat at that.

‘Be useful, pour me some orange juice’ Steve says, plating the pancakes slowly in a neat stack.

Bucky drops his empty cup in the sink and goes to the fridge, opening the door, and then scowls.

‘Hang on, this is my floor, why do you have your food and drink in my fridge?’ he asks, confused, scrutinizing Steve. The other man blinks innocently at him.

‘Uh-uh, put away the puppy eyes, pal. That’s never worked on me’

‘Liar’ Steve says, grinning, purposefully ignoring Bucky’s question. Bucky rubs a furious hand over his face because that is so not even the point. He darts a glance Natasha’s way and she has this quirk at the corner of her mouth, there’s a stray loose curl falling into her face.

Bucky scoffs and viciously takes out the carton, shutting the door by his hip, grabs at a clean glass. He stares at the bubbly pour of the juice and stops.

‘Tash do you-?’ he waves the carton in her direction and she shakes her head decisively.

‘Right, swap’ Steve says, plateful of pancakes in hand.

 

They do so and sit down opposite Natasha at the table.

 

‘You owe me breakfast now’ Steve says idly.

‘You’re going to let him burn the kitchen?’ Natasha swirls her spoons in the milk, smirking at Steve under dark smudgy lashes.

‘Uh no, not really. Damn’

‘Hey, what? It’s not my _forte_ ’

‘Bucky you shouldn’t be near anything with heat or flames’ Steve says dryly.

‘Laugh it up, punk’ Bucky retorts. He glares at the pancakes and deliberately slices down the five in a triangle, and shoves it into his mouth, watching Steve and chewing.

It’s like sweet, syrupy goodness on a plate.

‘Happy?’ Steve asks, tilting his head and kicking back in his seat.

‘Not your best’ he criticizes after swallowing. Steve sees through his tone.

‘I’ll try better next time’

‘I can deal with that’

 

Suddenly there’s that tune, once more, that _song._

 

_It might seem crazy what I’m about to say_

_Sunshine she’s here, you can take a break_

 

Bucky and Steve avert their gazes at each other to focus on Natasha: the tablet is lying on her side of the table, glowing blue. She shrugs.

 

_I’m a hot air balloon that could go to space_

_With the air, like I don’t care baby by the way_

_Because I’m happy_  
 _Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof_  
 _Because I’m happy_  
 _Clap along if you feel like happiness is the truth_  
 _Because I’m happy_  
 _Clap along if you know what happiness is to you_  
 _Because I’m happy_  
 _Clap along if you feel like that’s what you wanna do_

 

Bucky nods silently along to the song, giving the majority of his attention to his breakfast because - priorities. He feels the nudge of a socked foot at his knee and he shuffles discreetly, the said foot settling under the bulk of his thigh. It should be awkward but it’s not, he hooks his ankle around the leg of Natasha’s chair. Bucky takes his eyes off his pancakes just in time to see her slide a hand along Steve’s forearm.

It’s times like these where Bucky’s world goes easy and warm.

He smiles, aware that neither of them is looking at him, and sinks his fork into another segment.

 

_Here come bad news talking this and that, yeah,_  
 _Well, give me all you got, and don’t hold back, yeah,_  
 _Well, I should probably warn you I’ll be just fine, yeah,_  
 _No offense to you, don’t waste your time_  
 _Here’s why…_

 

Steve’s mouthing the words as the chorus kicks in, and Bucky finds himself drumming in time with the beat on the table surface.

 

_Because I’m happy_  
 _Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof_  
 _Because I’m happy_  
 _Clap along if you feel like happiness is the truth_  
 _Because I’m happy_  
 _Clap along if you know what happiness is to you_  
 _Because I’m happy_  
 _Clap along if you feel like that’s what you wanna do_

 

Everything’s good and nothing hurts.

It’s not perfect, it’s not normal. He’s - he can't qualify it - but he supposes, for once, since Steve's 15th birthday, he's happy.

**Author's Note:**

> I had this image in my head and it morphed into this fic.
> 
> Comments/kudos are very welcome :) <3 Soviet Winter Shield.


End file.
